Prologue
by TantalumCobolt
Summary: How did James and Will end up having breakfast in Avengers Tower? [The days before The Breakfast Club]


It's not that he doesn't trust himself. (Not completely.) It's not even that he doesn't trust Hunt. (Not completely.) For once, it's the people he _does_ trust that are posing problems. One of them, at least.

The Secretary calls him into his office. Says: "I'm temporarily assigning you to Hunt's team; I need someone to play interference". The last thing Will expects is the person who walks through the door.

The prodigal son - brother - returns.

"I trust you know who James Bond is?"

Does he ever.

"A pleasure." Cool British accent. Sparkling eyes. Controlled mirth seeping out of every pore.

Will takes the offered hand. _You son of a bitch James._ "Likewise."

The Secretary smiles. Wrinkles become crinkles. "Behave yourselves gentlemen. I don't want to have to explain away any more exploding bridges to the President."

Two nods. "Yes, sir."

* * *

Getting into the same car - to save petrol, to avoid getting separated in the traffic, to keep a close eye on him like the Secretary wanted. Endless excuses. It's been a while since they've been on the same continent.

Road signs flashing past. Caution: long mission ahead.

"Is it too sentimental to say I missed you?"

"Is it not sentimental enough to say I didn't?"

Sitting at the traffic lights. Wondering how he's going to explain this to Hunt and co. _Hey the Secretary thought it'd be fun if we worked with our brothers from another agency, so I'd like you to meet James Bond. You've probably heard of him; he's kind of fucking famous. Even more than you, Ethan._

 _Oh and by the way he's also my older brother. Who'd'a thought it, huh?_

 _"_ They don't need to know about us." Ever the logical older brother.

"Ashamed of me?" Ever the insecure youger brother.

A sharp look. Raised eyebrows. "They're not your friends, William. They don't need to know anything other than what they do need to know."

Of course. Team doesn't equal friends, especially not in their business. Because Bartons are close but only with each other. And Nat. (But she's probably going to be a Barton soon anyway - officially, that is.)

"We're almost there. Turn left ahead."

* * *

Faces staring at them as they walk through the door. Surprise. Shock. Confusion.

"Brandt? I wasn't expecting you back in the field so soon." Hunt.

Good to know he did expect it to happen at some point.

"And you brought an uninvited guest." Benji.

Where's Jane?

"The name's Bond, James Bond. I'm on loan from MI6." A pause. Needing to justify. "My boss said something about fostering inter-agency cooperation." Shifting the blame.

Will stares out the window and ignores the fangirling. Ignores James' silent pleas for help. _You brought this upon yourself when you came to get me, o brother of mine._

Sometimes it's nice being the only one in the family without a reputation.

* * *

"You couldn't just call to say hi like a normal person?" Exasperated. Intrigued. He still hasn't worked out the reason for this impromptu visit. Guesses pile up in his mind.

"Since when have we been normal?"

Point.

Cocks head. Uses the analytical skills his position ingrained in him. "It's Clint, isn't it?"

A wry smile. "It's been a while since we've all been together, Will. I heard he went and did something stupid." Again. "What better time to drop in and make sure he's not causing too much trouble?"

There are plenty. He just needs a moment to think of them. "You could have called. Arranged to meet."

Devilish grin. Quiet chuckle. "Where's the fun in that?"

Where's the fun in this?

* * *

Fielding questions. Blood pressure rising. Patience thinning.

"Since when have you been back in the field?" _Since now, apparently._

"What's this cooperation thing about?" _Don't know. Just gotta do what we're told. Play the good little agent._

"Any other secrets you're hiding. Brandt?" _Just the elephant (agent) in the room._

"Anything we need to know about Bond?" _Just that he's an arsehole ninety-two percent of the time._

"Can we trust him?" _Do you trust me?_

* * *

They shoot the bad guys.

Well, James does. Will watches from a distance (usually Clint's job), face peering over Benji's shoulder, eyes tracking the action on his laptop screen. Typical fight scene. Typical pseudo-happy ending. Ethan gets knocked out, James drags his sorry arse back to the safe house.

No exploding bridges. It's a job well done.

* * *

Will steps out of the field agent mask, out of the Chief Analyst suit, out of the IMF. James holds open the car door with a mocking bow. A light punch to his shoulder. _Dickhead._

He takes a deep breath. Releases it slowly. Steps into the role of brother. Barton.

"I still don't think it was necessary to hijack a mission so you could kidnap me for the weekend." Petulant. Childish.

"Maybe not, but it was fun."

Four dead bodies, annoyingly curious teammates, ordered back into the field, babysitting Agent 007. Will shakes his head. "I'm gonna buy you

dictionary, bro, 'cause you really need to look up the definition of fun."

Laughter. "How 'bout a party? Does that fit your definition of fun?"

Shrugs. "Better than getting shot at."

At least Tony Stark's party's have an endless supply of alcohol. Necessary after the last few days.

And it will be nice to see Clint again. Maybe they can cook up some mischief. Get James back. Natasha would help.

Might even be able to get James to make pancakes in the morning...


End file.
